


where we stand vigilant

by friendlybomber



Series: Ethelan Mahariel Sabrae [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Ethelan Mahariel Sabrae, Gen, Non-Chronological, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, because i do - Freeform, so does anyone else find it really fucking sickening if you help the architect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 23:16:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10684914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlybomber/pseuds/friendlybomber
Summary: "How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand... there is no going back?"These are the reasons Warden-Commander Mahariel left Vigil's Keep.





	where we stand vigilant

**Author's Note:**

> this fic spans about 5 years, and does not occur in chronological order. Just for shits and giggles.

_In war, victory._

The Mother was dead. With her died the last dregs of the darkspawn who terrorized Ferelden. Where they went, Ethelan Mahariel did not care to know. The Deep Roads, perhaps. For now, she did not care. She had been a Grey Warden for little over a year, and she was tired.

Amaranthine did not thrive, per say, but it did survive. Ethelan could never be a ruler; not the way the arling needed. She could not do enough for the peasants, and she could not do enough for the city. Soon after the siege on Vigil’s Keep, she gave full unofficial sovereignty over the arling of Amaranthine to the seneschal. Garevel would be a much more suitable ruler than she.

In time, Nathaniel’s nephew would come to own part of the arling. She figured she would let him and Garevel vie for complete control. That was not her issue.

She did not really _have_ an issue anymore.

“The Hero of Ferelden, two times over, I’d say,” Alistair said, toasting her. She clinked her mug against his and the two drank deeply. The fireplace roared behind them. The hall was quiet, save for the two almost-lovers, enthralled in their own furtive moment.

“This time wasn’t so bad,” she said. Her eyes were glazed. The village, just outside the city proper, housed them, as Vigil’s Keep was destroyed. Her bones ached. She felt tired. “No corrupted dragons this time.”

“Just as well, I can’t express how grateful I am for everything you’ve done for Ferelden,” Alistair said. “I am proud to call you my friend. I don’t think I’ve ever met a braver soul.” He jostled her shoulder jovially. “Come on, cheer up, my dear. You’re victorious! Celebrate!”

Ethelan’s face stung at the old term of affection. If he had noticed what he had called her, he showed no indication. She offered him an empty smile. “Alright, acorn. You lead the way.”

 

_In peace, vigilance._

Ethelan’s new family dispersed just as quickly as it had come together. Velanna was most likely dead. Justice was… gone. Sigrun was fading just as quickly as Ethelan, and whatever spark of friendship used to be there was quenched for good. Nathaniel, perhaps Ethelan’s closest friend at the time, was glad to be a Grey Warden, but she knew in her heart that their time together would soon be drawn to an end. Her feet itched to move on. Now it was not her family that was leaving her, but she them.

There was no Blight, but there was still much to be done. Ethelan could not bring herself to do it. Perhaps she would search for the Architect. She knew logically that nothing was over, that the Blight still existed, but she could not be moved by any sense of urgency.

For now, she would have to simply rebuild the order. Perhaps she would finally join Alistair and Teagan on their hunting expeditions. Perhaps she would regroup with Zevran. Perhaps she would follow Sten again and convert to the Qun. Perhaps she would tend to her still-broken heart.

There was still a Dalish clan wandering somewhere, missing two hunters. Perhaps she could bring one back.

But the Dalish forget, and she could not forget. How could she close her eyes to this vast world again? No. She would not rejoin her clan. She would simply keep moving.

“So,” said Nathaniel, settling down next to her on the cold ground five years after the Mother died. “What’s next, Commander? We’ve rebuilt the Vigil. Shall we keep building the order?”

Ethelan stared straight ahead. “I think I might leave.”

Nathaniel jerked as if struck. “Leave? Leave the Grey Wardens? Why? For what purpose? You would simply abandon your-”

Ethelan pointed to the tattoos painted over her forehead. “Do you know what these are, Nathaniel?”

“They’re your Dalish tattoos. Vallaslin, I think Velanna called them?”

They were silent for a moment, remembering their long-fallen comrade.

“Bloodwriting,” Ethelan said quietly. “It means bloodwriting. They are a rite of passage into adulthood among the Dalish. They signify our duty to our gods and to our people. When I joined the Grey Wardens, I forsook both. There was a higher cause for me. Now, there is no cause. My duty to the Grey Wardens is filled.”

“You can’t honestly think that,” Nathaniel protested. “What would we do without you, our Commander of the Grey? Your commitment is for life, Commander.”

“I’ve given my life. I’ve given my heart. I’ve given everything. I’m tired, Nathaniel.” She looked up at the stars. “If there is a duty for me, I’ve gotta go look for it elsewhere.”

The two sat in silence, listening to the crickets chirp around them. Finally, Nathaniel clapped her gently on the back. She turned to look at him, and he was smiling softly at her.

“Stay vigilant, then, Commander. There’s greatness out there for you yet. Thank you for all you’ve given me. And best of luck out there.”

She blinked back tears behind her smile and drew him in for a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you, Nathaniel. You are a good man. Stay in touch, okay? I could always use a Howe in my life, for better or for worse.”

Nathaniel laughed. “You have my word, Commander.”

“Ethelan,” she said. “We’re friends still, after all this time. Call me Ethelan.”

“Ethelan,” he said. He sat his hand over hers and followed her gaze up to the sky. “It’s been an honor.”

 

_In death, sacrifice._

Once she left the nest of the Mother, Ethelan doubled over and vomited.

She was helping the darkspawn. She aided them. She cooperated with them. The darkspawn, who had razed Ferelden, the darkspawn who were sub-human monstrosities, who hunted and mangled and killed for no reason. The darkspawn who had butchered so many. And worse yet, the very darkspawn who had caused it all in the first place.

She did not have the luxury of knowing the Blight only as a tragedy that affected a nameless population. She met so many people in her travels over the past year, and each gave the Blight a new face. It would be selfish to reduce the suffering of the Blight to those she had personally lost – Duncan, Tamlen. So many more had suffered and died. The Blight was the worst thing she had ever lived through. And she had aided its cause.

Ethelan felt something come out of her as she stood there, hunched over and retching into the dirt. Energy drained from her bones.  It occurred to her all she had lost. Over one year ago, she was innocent, sunny, bored but happy. Ignorant and content. Now, she was hurt, bruised, drained, torn, blasted by the weight of the decisions she had made.

The Vigil had fallen. The Mother had died. The darkspawn were defeated.

Yet what was left of Ethelan Mahariel Sabrae?

“Yer fine,” Oghren said as he patted her back. “Just had too much to drink, eh?” He snickered.

“Bluh,” she replied.

“Let’s get out of here, pal,” he said. “This place is giving me the creeps.”

“I don’t feel so good,” Ethelan said. She retched again. “I helped the darkspawn. I feel sick.”

“All to stop the Blight,” Oghren reminded her. “Yer alright, kiddo. Let’s get you out of here.” He straightened her out and guided her a few steps forward.

She shook him off. “Ma serannas. I’m okay. Let’s get a move on.”

Oghren scratched his head. “Huh. Funny. I’ve never heard you speak a word of elvish before in my life. Unless I was drunk at the time, heh heh.”

“I was Dalish once, you know,” Ethelan said. “Before all this.”

“That part of you is long gone, isn’t it.” He laughed again. She failed to see what was funny.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “I suppose it is.”

 

_The Grey Wardens._

The sky was dove-grey when she slipped from the Vigil. She did not go like Sigrun – she had warned her soldiers in advance that she was leaving, and a select few awoke early on her final day to see her off. She would be back. She was yet the arlessa of Amaranthine, if only in title. And she was yet the Commander of the Grey. But her duties – whatever they were – called her elsewhere.

She would go to Antiva, she thought. She had always longed to see the docks where Zevran had lived. And then, perhaps, Orlais. She would meet Teagan in Ansburg, and then accompany him back to Denerim to be with Alistair. She would wander, as she had done her entire life until the taint seeped into her blood.

A warden needed a charge to protect. As she set off, pack on her shoulders, into the early grey dawn that surrounded her, she thought that maybe, she might have an idea of what that now was.


End file.
